


Understanding the Doldrums

by tiggeryumyum



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/M, M/M, Other, Transgender, Transitioning, trans kunimi akira
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 08:40:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17846117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiggeryumyum/pseuds/tiggeryumyum
Summary: There's nothing wrong with Kunimi's body, and there's nothing wrong with Kunimi's life.





	Understanding the Doldrums

Five million Romans died during the Antonine plague. 

It was either smallpox or measles, and the disease crawled across Rome like a fire – hungry, unstoppable, devastating. Two thousand deaths a day. Two thousand corpses, piling in their homes, in the streets, their hospitals, and temples, and two thousand more the day after that, and the day after that, neighbors, friends, family, dying, and dying, and dying. 

Kunimi sits in class with his legs spread as far as the seat allows, his thighs digging into the metal bars of the desk. 

Most days it's not bad. Most days it's fine. 

But that's being dramatic.

Really, every day is fine. 

Kunimi isn't watching his family die off, one by one, from a mystery illness so devastating that it can only be rationalized as the wrath of an angered god. Kunimi isn't fighting for his life in a war, or starving on the streets. Kunimi isn't working in a sweatshop. Kunimi isn't expected to work at all, as long as he continues to get good grades. 

Kunimi has clean water, a home, a bed, and parents who provide for him without resentment.

There's nothing wrong with Kunimi's body, and there's nothing wrong with Kunimi's life. 

Part of his life and body is his dick. The ever present weight between his legs, which is always there, but sometimes a little more there than usual. 

Today is one of those days, but he's not such a child that he'd allow this to bother him.

Class ends, and Kunimi's expression stays blank, stoically accepting the reality of this situation as he stands. 

It shifts. 

He walks and it's there. Between his thighs. Jostling with his steps. There. Always there. 

He looks forward to volleyball practice today, because in his locker is a jockstrap he's started to outgrow. It pinches slightly, keeping everything pinned and still between his legs, out of the way. Kunimi welcomes that pinch, that slight, ever present squeeze. Punishment for it existing, because he's grown resentful enough to want it to hurt. 

But that's being dramatic, too. 

Kunimi passes class 2-3, and Kindaichi falls in step beside him. It's such routine at this point that neither of them bother with hello. 

"My uncle came down from Kyoto this weekend," Kindaichi says, after they exit the building, heading toward the gym. "He was a setter, back in high school. Not like – well."

"No one's like Kageyama," Kunimi mutters.

"Yeah. Still, though," Kindaichi says. "He had some tips."

Last week Kindaichi vowed he was done trying to appease that tyrannical _king of the court_ , but Kunimi can hear the excitement in his voice. Kindaichi clearly believes these tips will make practice go well today. 

Kunimi sighs under his breath. He doesn't have the energy for that kind of impossible hope. When they first met Kageyama, last year, they had been excited by his talent, that they'd have a competent setter even after Oikawa-san moved on ahead to Aoba Johsai. Kindaichi had been especially excited that they were in the same year. Kindaichi and Kageyama could grow together as teammates, and Kindaichi could become Kageyama's reliable ace.

Kageyama has grown worse by the day, though. He's impossible for Kindaichi to please, and the constant tension in the gym makes Kunimi feel like his head is being forced underwater. Volleyball is the one time his body doesn't particularly bother him, but he's starting to hate it.

And Kindaichi is being dramatic, like always. 

If Kindaichi was the type who could just accept Kageyama's unreasonable demands were that, _unreasonable_ , things would be easy. Kageyama would tantrum to himself for a while, then settle down, and get back to the game. But Kindaichi just keeps trying, and every day he enters the gym with these high hopes, and every day he leaves with his ego bruised and feelings hurt. 

Sometimes Kunimi hates Kindaichi for this. Why can't he just _stop_? Why can't he just accept that he'll never make Kageyama happy? It's so much easier.

Practice doesn't go well, of course. Kageyama isn't impressed with Kindaichi's attempts at something new, and the coach tells them to focus on fundamentals first. Kindaichi agrees, but he's embarrassed and disappointed, and Kunimi skips out of practice early.

At the end of their second year, Kindaichi finally gives up trying to be as fast as Kageyama asks, instead of just petulantly saying he's going to. 

Kunimi can tell it's real this time, because Kindaichi is embarrassed to admit it, and his face flushed angry, humiliated red when he tries to tell Kageyama that he can't go any faster, and Kageyama needs to slow down instead.

Kageyama refuses to listen. Or, more likely, is literally unable to understand. He lashes out, it turns into a fight, and the seemingly unshakable foundation Kindaichi had set his hopes and dreams upon is finally toppled. His hopes crushed.

Kunimi watches this, and he hates Kindaichi for finally doing what Kunimi had been waiting for, because he didn't imagine it would look like this. Vulnerable and heartbroken, red-faced shouting because it's literally all Kindaichi has left.

But more than that, Kunimi wants to kick Kageyama in the throat for making it happen, being so oblivious, so destructive, and so undeniably good that it paints Kindaichi as the one who is failing, no matter how hard he practiced, how hard he tried to be the spiker Kageyama wanted.

This is why when Kindaichi goes to the coach for help, it's like talking to a brick wall. 

No one in their right mind is going to put Kindaichi ahead of Kageyama. 

Except, Kunimi supposes, rolling his eyes, himself.

~

Kunimi tops 180cm in his third year of junior high. 

Kindaichi, supportive and loud, points it out to the entire team when they go over their new stats. 

"180!!" Kindaichi shouts, delighted. "By the time you graduate high school you'll probably be over 190!"

The rest of the team is just as desperate for something positive to focus on, and they make a show of slapping Kunimi's back and congratulating him. 

Kunimi is feeling particularly resigned to the discomfort with his body that day, and smiles along with their encouragement. 

He's jealous of Kindaichi, who is so at home in his body that he regularly stands with his hands on his hips, proud, taking up as much space as possible. He's also jealous of their libero, barely reaching 165cm. 

But, he reasons numbly, if he's going to be a man, he might as well be a tall man. 

The thought makes Kunimi ill. He is going to be a man. It's an unavoidable reality, he will grow into a man, grow 190cm or taller, and the thought makes his skin crawl, makes him want to vomit, but Kunimi isn't Kindaichi. 

He's not an idiot that hopes for impossibilities. Even if he somehow stalled his body now, held it in place and didn't grow another millimeter, Kunimi would make a ludicrous woman. He's tall, his shoulders are broad. He'll only get taller and broader from here, and he'd look like a lumbering, comical fool. 

But there are children who are beaten by their parents. 

There are construction workers who lose their footing, fall into their machinery and have their limbs ripped off. 

Kunimi once read about a college student who was crushed by his own dresser while setting up his dorm, eventually dying of starvation, almost an arm's reach away from help, just not strong enough to lift the thing off his chest.

How dare Kunimi resent the fact that his body is tall, and strong, and growing taller and stronger every day.

To celebrate, that day a lunch Kindaichi gets him a kiwifruit sherbert from the vending machine.

~

Kunimi's 188cm by the time he graduates high school. 

Well beyond an acceptable height to do anything about his dysphoria. He knows the word from celebrities discussing this issue on television. He never seeks out information about this topic, and will sometimes actively avoid it, feeling especially self-hating whenever he hears anyone voicing thoughts that sound like the pathetic things that exist in his own head.

He does know the tallest women in the world are in Latvia. His teammates in university mention this when talking about how hard it can be to date tiny Japanese women. One of the middle blockers was raised in the country, and he says the average height for a woman is 170cm, and that it's not all that uncommon to see women close to 180cm, or even 185cm. 

The image appears half formed in Kunimi's mind, stupidly unrealistic, something Kindaichi might come up with: maybe, Kunimi could transition into a woman, and move to Latvia. But realities tangle into the idea instantly. The surgeries are expensive, something that would put him in debt for years, how would he support himself in a foreign country? He can't speak English comfortably, and that's after years of studying, let alone Latvian, and he knows he wouldn't feel home anywhere but Japan. This is his home. Just not his body.

Another image appears in his mind, this one far clearer, grimmer, dark, and grotesque: if Kunimi simply removed the part he can't stand the most. 

The extra additions feel selfish to ask for, anyway. Kunimi doesn't have to be a woman, but if he could just cut off the things that don't belong. At fifteen he had tried, sort of. Feelings peaked high at that age, and the thought was repeating, intrusive, for months on end – _he could just cut it off_. He could deal with whatever came next, if he could just get that thing off his body. Of course he never went through with it, getting as far as gathering a bag of ice, towels, and a pair of cooking scissors. He held the ice against his dick, grimacing through the pain, until it numbed – but couldn't muster the courage for the next step.

The memory is an embarrassing one, along with every other time Kunimi allowed these feelings to grow strong enough to interfere with his life. How embarrassing would it be if he actually started taking pills, and they did nothing. Or even worse, _almost_ nothing? How would he even begin to explain the half-thing he'd turned his body into to his parents or friends?

He should just stop being dramatic.

An earthquake hit Japan again, triggering a tsunami that swept along the coastline, knocking entire villages out to sea, entire families gone as though they had never existed, the very foundations of their homes ripped free, and everything they ever owned or cared about demolished to nothing. 

Kunimi's family is safe and healthy. Kunimi is safe.

He's not healthy, though, he's learned to accept that much, because anyone who has this level of preoccupation is at least mentally unwell. But it's not terminal.

Kunimi is functional. He can work, he can live, he can even play volleyball. He has nothing that needs to be fixed. Nothing to complain about.

~

He doesn't mean to stare the first time he sees a woman – a woman like him, in real life. 

He's in his last year of university, studying at a cafe, and she's walking across the street. 

There are boys wearing skirts and dresses in the fashion districts of Tokyo nearly every day, and Kunimi is always irrationally annoyed by the sight. 

Kunimi would never do such a thing, and if he can control himself, they should be able to do the same. This is bitter and nonsensical, though. For them it's a costume, a show, a style, even teetering toward a joke a times. Bright colors and daring cuts they're simply trying out, looking for a reaction. Kunimi isn't that, and he doesn't want to be that, he shouldn't care about it.

The woman, though, wears a gray skirt, and a white button up. 

If she hadn't said anything, Kunimi wouldn't have noticed either way, but she's ordering tuna at a market counter, and her voice is strained, pushing high. 

She's struggling with her voice, clearing her throat regularly, apologizing. 

She must have just started, Kunimi thinks.

She's tallish. She's not the extravagant, supermodel beauty that Kunimi sees on television, glamorous spectacle or success stories, depending on the viewer's opinion. She's just – a woman. A little frumpy, if anything. Normal. 

Kunimi watches, fascinated. She's coming from her office job, probably. She's just – living. This is her life. 

There's nothing dramatic about that.

They make eye contact, and Kunimi drops his gaze. She assumes the worst, ducks her head down, and is quiet for the rest of her transaction, escaping quickly after that. 

He goes back to studying. He has to focus, this exam is important, and he's still not confident in the material. He doesn't let himself get distracted from it, but that woman lingers, a soft but steady presence in his mind.

The night before his final exam, when he's studied as much as he possibly can, he decides to distract himself, and actually start researching. 

~

It's important to have a network of support for this process, but that idea is unpleasant to say the least. 

Kunimi has always been a very private person. There are exactly three people he enjoys being close to, and he'd rather just not do any of this at all if it means he had to tell them, first. Their opinions matter the most. Their opinions would actually devastate him, so he stops talking to them completely.

The idea of them witnessing, first hand, what he's about to try with his body, makes his stomach turn. 

His doctor advises that this is going to be a long process regardless, and it is, and the worst parts end up being the required support groups he has to attend, once a week. 

At least they don't make him talk. He introduces himself, then listens. The experiences of the people around him are so different, and present so differently, at times they don't even sound like the same condition. 

Some of the people there don't mind their bodies much. Some even enjoy their bodies, so it took them a while to piece together why they were so unhappy with their situation, to figure out the other, more complex and specific things about their gender that makes them uneasy. 

Kunimi realizes he's lucky in one way: he was never confused or uncertain about his feelings. Many of the people almost sound like they're trying to talk themselves out of it even today, like maybe they can just will it away. Though, Kunimi supposes, if that had been remotely possible for himself, he would've done the same. 

Toward the end of these mandatory sessions, he does share one story, about Kindaichi. 

Kunimi had never confided in him about any of this, but Kindaichi had still been able to pick up that there something going on. He must have decided that, probably, Kunimi was gay.

"It's okay if you are," he had said, overly gruff, overly serious. "That's fine, it doesn't change anything, or anything. Like, I know you don't like me. But – that'd be okay, too – I only like girls, but I wouldn't care."

That had been third year, before graduation. 

Kunimi hadn't known how to say that actually, he wasn't gay, and actually, he did like Kindaichi. A lot. That stupid optimism Kindaichi could never quite give up became something that Kunimi wanted to protect from others, and had even come to admire, in a way.

And actually, it's just fine if Kindaichi only likes girls, because Kunimi – 

This thought that Kunimi couldn't bring himself to finish, this conversation, had irritated Kunimi's insides like a rash, flaring up in inflamed humiliation and self-disgust. He'd been okay with hating, just _hating_ his dick. Actually wanting to be something – a girl, to look like a girl, was – so stupid. It made him vulnerable. Weak. Hating made him feel stronger, at least. Wanting something, having to work up the courage to ask for it – no. That was by far the hardest part. 

Distantly, he wonders maybe Kindaichi's brand of bull dog-ish support would've helped, like his doctor had suggested.

But, eventually, Kunimi did it himself. 

After a few more evaluations, and then a few more meetings, his doctor presents Kunimi with their plan. They're starting with pills, and seeing how his body reacts. 

Kunimi takes the bottles home, and shakes two into his palm. 

They feel like cyanide capsules. Like he's about to poison himself. This is a sacrifice, giving up the body he has now, swimming off into the unknown in hopes that what he finds out there will be better. There's no promises that it will be. But he also knows, without question, a resolve he's developed since starting this, he can't simply stay where he is. 

Then he rolls his eyes and swallows them down. 

Fucking dramatic. 

~

He tries his best to forget he's taking them at all. He doesn't want to be like his old college teammates in the weight room, pathetically obsessing over each kilogram gained or lost after each workout. The changes, if any, will be too gradual for him to see. 

This is all well and good rationalization, but Kunimi still finds himself analyzing his profile in the bathroom mirror every morning, pinching at his hips, at his shoulders, scrutinizing how shirts fall on his frame. 

As time goes by, Kunimi starts sliding into an androgynous space that confuses people. 

He can see them hesitate when he approaches, not sure how to greet him. He knows part of this is his own doing, because he still keeps his hair the same style it was in high school, distinctly short and boyish. If it was longer, people would probably peg him immediately as a man trying to be a woman. 

The short hair, though, is his cowardly attempt at a shield. If someone thinks he's looks womanly, well, that's on them. He's certainly not _trying_ , at least not that they can tell. 

He dresses in masculine clothes, but tries to hide the size of his hands when standing at stoplights, and eyes his reflection in the windows of passing stores, looking for any softening of his chin or cheeks.

"Kunimi?"

It's Matsukawa there at the crosswalk, dressed like he's going on an interview. He looks happily surprised to see Kunimi.

Matsukawa was Kunimi's favorite senpai in high school. Oikawa and Iwaizumi were both too intense, and Hanamaki was fine but Matsukawa shared the same sort of mean-ish, cynical sense of humor as Kunimi and Kunimi had always enjoyed talking with him during practice, especially proud of himself when he made him laugh.

If it was literally anyone else from Aoba Johsai, Kunimi would've kept walking. He's too uncertain about his own appearance. How to act, walk, speak, sit. He's been reading about these differences and trying to figure out what and how to mimic them… but it's Matsukawa.

"Matsukawa-san," Kunimi says. He clears his throat.

"God, it's been a minute," Matsukawa says, looking him up and down. Kunimi can't tell what Matsukawa sees, if he's spotted the differences that Kunimi's been so eagerly searching out in himself. His expression gives nothing away. "When was the last time you went down to Miyagi?"

"Last spring," Kunimi says, though it had actually been the year before that. "It's good to see you."

"Yeah, you too," Matsukawa says. "I just finished with a meeting – want to get something to eat?"

Kunimi agrees, and leads Matsukawa to a restaurant he's never been before. They talk, what they've been up to since school, their jobs, their families, but when Matsukawa asks for an update on Kindaichi, all Kunimi can do is shrug.

"What, really?" Matsukawa says. "You two seemed close. Did you fight or something?"

"Nothing happened," Kunimi lies, fiddling with his chopsticks a bit. What happened was Kunimi, cutting him off. Kindaichi sent a few fishing texts from time to time, then they dried off when he didn't get a reply. "Just got busy, I guess."

"Right," Matsukawa says. He's peering closer at Kunimi's face. Kunimi meets his stare.

The waitress brings them the bill, combined on one check, without asking. She places it in front of Matsukawa. He blinks in surprise, and Kunimi feels his face heat. 

"I've got it," Kunimi says, reaching for the bill, to apologize for this misunderstanding. 

"No, what kind of senpai would I be," Matsukawa says, blowing off his efforts completely, putting his own card down. He frowns down at the bill again, then up at Kunimi. 

Kunimi keeps his face as neutral as possible. It has softened, he knows. His jaw line is rounder, his brow lifted enough to make his eyes seem a bit bigger. 

Matsukawa leans back, tilting his head to the side, considering him closer. 

"Huh," he finally says. 

And that's it.

Kunimi isn't sure if he wants to get away undetected or not. Matsukawa doesn't say anything, which is not the worst reaction. The worst reaction would be disgust. It's what Kunimi's been bracing himself for since he was able to verbalize what was wrong with his body. He should be pleased with literally any other reaction, but for some reason – he actually finds himself slightly disappointed when nothing else comes.

Matsukawa gets his card back, and they stand up from the table.

Matsukawa isn't one for shows of physical affection between friends. Iwaizumi and Oikawa were constantly on each other, roughhousing, high fiving, grabbing – Matsukawa is more reserved. So when they go back out to the street, and say their goodbyes, and Matsukawa grabs Kunimi in a quick hug – 

Kunimi's eyes go wide, breath hitching in surprise. 

That's just not something Matsukawa would've done to a male friend. Still reeling from that, Kunimi blinks, only able to stutter out goodbye at Matsukawa's warm smile. 

"Don't be a stranger," Matsukawa says, and leaves. 

Kunimi stops by the convenience store, heart beating fast. His hand hovers over the hair accessories – and this is the first thing he buys. Deliberately, for himself. For herself. For her. A pack of hair elastics, and clips. 

Kunimi goes home and sets them on the bathroom counter. Chin length hair is just long enough to pull into a ponytail, short and springy, though most of it spills out, around Kunimi's face. Clipping some of it back, Kunimi stares at her reflection. 

It's a girl staring back. Kunimi does nothing else for a moment. She reaches for the lip gloss – just slightly pink. She watches the girl in the mirror apply it to her lips. When she's done, the girl in the mirror recaps it slowly, then sets it down on the bathroom sink. 

Kunimi's not exactly sure why her eyes start to sting after that. Just sheer relief, that this was all worth something, that she's actually heading in the right direction. This wasn't a mistake, all her fears of only ending up worse finally escaping with a sudden, messy sob.

~

The pills soften everything. Even her dick, her life-long torment, that heavy awful thing between her legs, has become less. Softer, lighter, not so imposing, and Kunimi's hatred for it starts to soften, too. She still doesn't want it, but she feels a truce has been reached. If it's going to behave itself, then fine.

Orgasm through stimulation becomes more difficult that before, but she prefers this over the sensation of feeling like a gun has been attached to her body without her consent and prone to exploding for no reason whatsoever. Now it builds with her entire body, climax that feel clean and real and nothing like the guilt-ridden, angry things from before. Kunimi can actually stroke her dick for the first time without feeling disgust travel up her spine.

Kunimi was so disgusted with herself she hadn't really bothered to think about a sexual partner. She hated her body, why on earth would she fantasize about anyone touching it?

As she becomes more comfortable with herself, happier in her body and how it works, she starts to become more aware of her own preferences. She likes men, and thinks about them as she touches herself. 

Kunimi does her best to keep it anonymous, as it feels unforgivably rude to think of someone she knows, sure that all of them would it distasteful, being cast in Kunimi's head. But the times that make her come the fastest, the hardest, are always when she's picturing a familiar face, someone she knows. 

Maybe she can find a new person to know.

She grows more confident in her appearance, buying make up and experimenting, wearing skirts, dresses, wearing flats – never heels, ever, sometimes her dysphoria is set off simply by just how high she is from the ground, and how many tops of heads she sees when she looks down. But she gets a fair amount of positive attention, even with her height. 

But the idea of taking one of those men home, and having to explain her ridiculous body, hardly seems worth it. 

Maybe she's lying to herself, like she consistently lied to herself as a teenager, hatefully condemning any sign that something's wrong. Maybe one day she will find it worth the risk to expose herself to a partner, but she's willing to wait for that right person to come along.

~

She's walking home, the jacket of her suit over her arm. It's been a good day, and she's reflecting on that, a nice conversation she had with her boss before leaving, and smiling. 

"Kunimi!"

It has been years, but Kunimi knows that voice, the way that voice says her name, instantly. 

Kindaichi has frozen in place, on the sidewalk ahead. His mouth snaps shut, and he moves closer, slowly, looking Kunimi up and down.

"Kunimi?"

Her outfit is fairly neutral, pants and a button up. A man could wear this outfit without attracting much attention. What Kindaichi is looking at is the body beneath that. Kunimi tries to catalog all the changes that have happen since the last time Kindaichi saw her. She has breasts now, small, but enough to press against her shirt. Her hair is slightly longer, shoulder length.

Kunimi clears her throat, "Kindaichi." Her voice is quiet enough that it's sort of an in-between of the voice she was born with, and her voice today. 

Kindaichi blinks again, and approaches. 

"Holy shit… " Kindaichi says, and has thoughtlessly started circle Kunimi, like he wants a full 360. 

Kunimi knows Kindaichi, even after all these years, and knows this isn't negative. It's not positive, either, though. It's confused, Kindaichi is still trying to make sense of what he's seeing, and she stands still, allowing him the time he needs. 

Her heart is pounding in fear, because she would like to remember Kindaichi in a fond, somewhat exasperated way. He is one of her best memories of growing up in torment and confusion and she doesn't want that tainted.

When Kindaichi finishes, Kunimi is biting her lip, hands in fists, looking down and to the side, terrified of his verdict. 

"You were smiling," Kindaichi says, bending slightly to get in her eyeline. He looks earnest. Non-threatening. 

"What?" Kunimi asks.

"I saw you, across the street – I thought it was you, but you were smiling and you looked – happy, and I never saw you look that happy before," Kindaichi says. 

"Oh," Kunimi says. Horrifyingly, she feels tears start to pile on her lower lid. If she closes her eyes, they will spill down her cheeks. 

How dramatic is that.

"Want to get a drink?" Kindaichi asks. It's a thoughtless invitation from a friend to another, and he immediately understands the new implications, flailing briefly, "Unless – you're busy, I just – it's not a big deal."

"I would like a drink," Kunimi says. 

Kindaichi perks. His hair is still styled upward, and the sudden rush of happiness in him makes him look a bit like a candle, flaring bright when it catches a bit of wind.

"So – I don't really know this area," Kindaichi flounders. "I'm just visiting… " 

"This way," Kunimi says. She walks down the street, and Kindaichi falls in step.

It's such a sense of deja vu Kunimi almost laughs. The steady, unrelenting pulse of misery that accompanied her as a teenager feels so foreign – something from a nightmare, something that can be forgotten, set aside, because what does it matter? 

Kunimi takes them to a cheap, quiet bar near her apartment, and they take a booth in the back. 

This is Kindaichi, who has less tact than the average man, and the average man has a good list of inappropriate and invasive questions about Kunimi's body. Kindaichi tries to dress them up as politely as possible, and fails miserably. 

"Do you – still have the whole business?" he says, pointing down toward his own crotch.

Some people don't mind these questions. They laugh politely when asked, and answer. Kunimi hates that and hates the questions, she has no patience for them, but apparently Kindaichi is an exception, because Kunimi finds herself answering calmly. 

"Yes. I want surgery, eventually."

"But this?" Kindaichi says, cupping his own chest, where breasts would sit. "You – really did this?"

"They're real."

"Wow," Kindaichi says, and stares until he realizes exactly what he's doing. "Sorry."

"I'm surprised you recognized me," Kunimi says.

"Why? You look the same," Kindaichi says, and this observation thoughtlessly stabs Kunimi in the chest, until he follows it up with and equally thoughtless, "But – I mean – you were always pretty."

He says this like dropping a heavy weight on the table, as awkward and sudden as that, and doesn't bother to soften the impact, just sits there, back stiff, face slowly going red. 

If he's going to be that upfront about his compliment, Kunimi thinks it's only polite to acknowledge it with that same boldness. 

"Thank you," she says. 

"Are you dating anyone?" Kindaichi asks.

"No."

"Can this be a date?" Kindaichi asks. He's so much like a teenager, even today, someone would have to've known him in high school to know how much he's actually matured. He's stiff-backed still, bracing himself like this is a kamakazi run. 

"Are you paying?" Kunimi asks, a light tease, raising her eyebrow.

Kindaichi inhales sharply. 

He pays for the meal, and on the walk home, he doesn't seem to know what to do with his hands, crossing his arms then shoving them in his pockets. 

He wants to put an arm over Kunimi's shoulders.

Kunimi smiles to herself as she realizes this, but lets him twist in the wind a bit. 

"Do you have any plans tomorrow?" Kindaichi asks. 

She does. An appointment at the bank, but. "Nothing important. How long are you in Tokyo?"

"Well – I'm heading to Sendai tonight, but I could come back in the morning," he says, rubbing at the back of his neck, and Kunimi scoffs. She almost wants to let the doofus do that, waste the three hours to Miyagi and then the three hours back. "But it's good to see you again, you know? I was just wondering about you. If you were doing alright."

"I'm doing alright."

"You're doing _great_ ," Kindaichi says, gesturing vaguely at Kunimi's body, and Kunimi laughs, a snorting, surprised noise. 

Kindaichi smiles, and he looks like a goon. 

Ah. Fine. "Come on," Kunimi says, taking Kindaichi's hand, and leading him up the steps to her apartment.

"Eh?" Kindaichi asks, stiffening, wide eyed.

"I have an extra futon," Kunimi says. "You can stay the night."

"Oh. Right. Are you sure?"

"Mm," Kunimi says, getting out her keys. They can watch a movie tonight, maybe. Have something to drink. "I've been meaning to see the Intermediatheque. Have you been?"

"No."

"We can do that tomorrow."

"Yeah," Kindaichi agrees, going bright and happy again, because Kindaichi has never been one to hide what he wants. And it's something Kunimi is grateful for, as Kindaichi tries to figure out if he should hold the door to her own apartment for her. 

At least one of them ought to be.


End file.
